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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112126">Icarus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateAndDragons/pseuds/ChocolateAndDragons'>ChocolateAndDragons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aobajousai, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I don't even name them but they're definitely there, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Ushijima Wakatoshi, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Not Beta Read, Not really though, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, Oikawa Tooru-centric, Post-Timeskip, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Shiratorizawa, Symbolism, all mentions of wings are figurative and no one really has wings, all our seijoh boys are there, all relationships are very brief, but also pre-timeskip, kind of?, only briefly though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:02:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateAndDragons/pseuds/ChocolateAndDragons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa Tooru is not born with wings.</p>
<p>Yet it seems the only way he can look is up, eyes fixated on heaven's glory. Others warn him of blazing fire, that it will melt his wax wings and plunge him into the depths of the sea, but Tooru aspires to be as celestial as the sun, to build his pedestal at the heights of the universe. Despite the sky's scathing remarks, he does the only things he can do- he builds his own wings; he tries.</p>
<p>But sometimes, it seems he'll be trying for his entire life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou &amp; Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime &amp; Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio &amp; Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't usually write this way and I'm trying something new so bear with me please. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oikawa Tooru is not born with wings. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not a god, not a monster, not a giant, not even a genius- He is simply a boy, but he has his sights set on the sky, on all the extraordinary that lies above him. Locked in his otherworldly aspirations- ambitious enough to make him a god- Tooru cannot manage to ever plant his feet firmly to the Earth, so all he does is clumsily hover, doomed to the eternal winds of mediocrity and ocean’s constant waves sloshing against his ankles. It is the ceaseless reminder of his greatest fear, that one day the placid waves will turn to a hurling tsunami, wrestle him under until he drowns, while others will merely unfurl their majestic wings and spiral off into the sky, untouched.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He can’t be left behind, no, he can’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> There’s no place for you in heaven, </em> they say, but Tooru is unwavering. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet all he can do is build.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Such a simple, narrow, </em> human <em> trait </em>, they scathe at him, spit on his work. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> It’s cute, </em> they remark, <em> your child’s play. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s all he can do to keep his composure and turn away seething, his only solace the vision of their bewilderment when he waltzes into heaven, tilts their stage and laughs. <em> Child’s play, huh? What is this, a family quarrel? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not today, though, no. Today, he steps back, surveys his land, his tools- <em> Barren and dead, </em>someone hisses in his ears, but Tooru’s keen eyes see potential. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He begins with a wheelbarrow of bricks and an old friend, lays the foundation to his kingdom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Day after day, Tooru works, pulling himself apart thread by thread to extract each flaw and weave himself back together with the finest silk and strongest fibers he can craft. After sleepless nights and days of prototype after prototype after prototype, Tooru finally straps on his first pair of wings. They’re flimsy, powerless things, torn too quick and melting at the seams, a desperate manifestation of hopeless dreams- but at merely 11, all Tooru sees is a god. His field of vision is narrow, far more claustrophobic than the sky he wishes to defeat. It is Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miracle Boy, Young Giant, Super Ace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Be wary of the sun, </em>he’s warned, but Tooru has no intention of such. His fingertips itch to brush against the fire in all of its searing glory, pluck its ferocity from its frame and continue, taking each star as his own. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Constellation by constellation, Tooru will conquer the universe. No, he isn’t a god, he’s reminded, but he could be a king- He could be the greatest. No one watches, of course they don’t, but he doesn’t need them to, Tooru tells himself. They’ll see him when he kicks down heaven’s gate.</p>
<p><em><br/>
</em> His aspirations only prove too bold for his fragile frame- He falls, paper wings set aflame, burning to ashes and leaving a scalding imprint of the memory on his back, all on the smiling cerulean backdrop of the sky. The sea rages around him, rubbing salt into his wounds. It’s his best to not drown, to grasp fruitlessly at the lapping waves pulling him lower and lower and plead, beg the universe to let him simply <em> see </em> the sun once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The universe does not help him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Do you see now? </em> It asks instead, glowering down at him. <em> Do you see why you can’t fly? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, yes he does.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, he tries again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At 14, he watches as a winged child rises, spreads his elegant feathers and rockets off into the sky, weaving past obstacles with a graceful ease. He rises and Tooru is slipping away, clawing helplessly at the cliffside and cursing the malfunctioning wires of his phony wings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And yet, Tobio has the nerve to stare up as if Tooru is the one soaring, to ask how he does it. <em> Can’t you see </em> ? Tooru thinks, forcing himself up higher and higher, legs shaking and palms bleeding. <em> Can’t you see all I ever do is tear myself apart and fail?  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru is only a mismatched collection of calloused fingertips, aching shoulders, quivering muscles and broken bones; of screws, bolts, and charred skin; of grit, drive, and dreams that double as nightmares.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tobio is constantly there, floating just out of his reach, wings prim and powerful. Those wings, the stroke of luck, the rapid rate of evolution that only speaks of impending failure, they weigh heavy on Tooru’s shoulders, even when attached to Tobio’s back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You want to know how I got so good? You want to be just this strong, better even, right? Try it yourself, see how it feels to be so damn weak. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Overcome with the feral urge to tear them from his back with his bare hands, he pounces like a cornered cat, wind wailing in his ears and vision blurring into enraged pools of red. The sight of Tobio’s wide eyed expression only fuels the fire raging in his lungs, the demonic whispers in his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You’ll never be good enough.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You can’t win. You never will.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> No, leave me alone, please. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You lost to Ushiwaka again. You’re going to lose to Tobio-chan, too.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Get away from me, get away from me- </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You can’t even handle yourself. You couldn’t keep yourself together at the match earlier so Coach subbed you for someone better. Look at yourself, you can’t even manage a little extra practice without-</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Get</em> <em>away from me, get away from me, get away fro-</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>You’re worthle-</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> GET AWAY FROM ME! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>...He breaks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The universe turns a blind eye once again as he crashes into the ocean, but Iwaizumi is there. Iwaizumi isn’t the universe, nowhere close, but he fearlessly catches Tooru, drags him out of hurricanes and sets him straight all the same- albeit angrily. <em> You are not alone in this. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Tooru ties his broken pieces together with athletic tape and casts, screws and wires, prays to the gods he despises to let him heal properly if they have any mercy. Once again, he is lying on the beach and forced to scale the cliffs to the top again. This time, though, he smiles instead, gazing up at the towering heights with determination.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suddenly, he feels invincible<em>.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>14 may be too young to have an epiphany, but Tooru cannot find any other word to describe his revelations- tranquil and power and exhilaration and understanding all wrapped into one indescribable bundle. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> This must be how it feels to fly</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru lets Iwaizumi drag him home and returns the next day to build his army with his newfound knowledge, not as a king, but as a mighty general. He handpicks his weapons, refines his strengths once again, but now does the same for his comrades, tailoring them like pieces on a chess board, each deliberately calculated and placed. Tooru trains, encourages, smiles, learning each person until their strengths are his, his are theirs, until they become one, synced- Iwaizumi’s spikes, Watari’s receives, Mattsun’s blocks. Tooru doesn’t demand their best, but brings it instead. <em> Strength is multiplied, not added. </em> He brings his best as they expect of him, and with it comes their best. They are links of a chain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The center of Tooru’s glory is his kingdom, risen from cracked dirt: Aoba Johsai- his pillar, his pride, his beautiful <em> Blue Castle, </em> as bright as the morning sky. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> You could do better, </em> eagle-winged giants claim. <em> Come. We’ll give you wings better than you could dream of. </em> But Tooru only takes offense at their offers. <em> My wings, my kingdom, it’s all just as good. </em> He would much rather experience the ecstasy of victory adorned in his blue and white, with the warriors he’d give his life for at his side, and gleefully watch the eagles plummet as their sacred wings bring on their downfall. He'll <em> take </em> their throne as his, for Tooru's game is a devious one, as mental as it is physical. He does not want alliances, he wants to <em> conquer.  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa Tooru will rule all, and he will do no less. <em> Seize the court, </em> his banners cry, flapping valiantly across the towers of his castle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru polishes his weapons- earth shattering serves and tactical sets- and puts his growing skills to use, masterfully crafting new wings to lead him higher and higher. These wings, they are glorious, could put stars to shame with their gold plated feathers and flawless weaving. Tooru is not even a star, but a child, merely 16, and the grandeur is far too mighty for him. But he doesn’t bow, for he is a king, instead tucking away his weaknesses- eye bags plastered under a smiling mask, gaping fears locked within his chest where they gnaw away at his heart, the weight upon his back disguised as glittering gold. It’s so blindingly bright under the sun’s sparkling rays that no one stops to question if it’s truly Fool’s Gold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> So close, </em> yet in the end, all he does is fall, silently slip away with exhaustion. This time he knows how to swim, but it makes no difference- The higher the fall, the harder the fall. His wings crumble and drag him down, too heavy to float.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ocean is just a hiss in his ears, enveloping him in cold so jarring that all he can do is scream; flail helplessly. There is only darkness now, accented by fiery pain- not failure, but death. <em> This is the end. </em> No one can ward off death, not even the so-called immortals that guard the stars. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru cannot fight this. <em> This must be the end. This must be hell. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>But unlike all the times before, there are distant voices from the shore echoing in his ears: yelling his name, calling 119, promising him it’ll be okay. They manifest themselves as many tones, as sirens with smooth, deep songs to ease his frantic, incoherent tangle of thoughts and as tense, hushed whispers- underclassmen unsteady and unsure, looking on with worry. He can barely hear them, mere vibrations buzzing against his icy skin, strange little waves slapping his arms. The ghost of a hand rests upon his heaving chest- <em> Breathe, </em> it echoes, <em> breathe, </em>but he can’t do it: he’s drowning, only swallowing water and choking out his own lungs with his hopeless attempts. He can’t do it. he’s already dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And yet there are so many hands dragging him back to the shore, fighting for him. <em> Let go. Give up. I’m gone, </em> he thinks.They refuse; they stay. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Calloused palms, soft skin, stocky hands, powerful fingers, dozens of them- Tooru can’t keep count. They clutch his shirt, yank him up to the surface, perhaps arms loop beneath him and carry him out of the sea as well, like the grand savior in movies. In the end, it only subjects him to the cruelty of the winds, leaving him all the colder: A shivering curled-up form on the grating sand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His own hands lay trembling, desperately grappling with fistfuls of empty air, until finally he finds something to wrap around. His frazzled mind finds it mildly amusing that this person is squeezing his hand so bone crushingly tight, as if the waves will return in a fury, crash down on them and seize Tooru, dragging him into the depths with claim to him as its own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As his own hands find Iwaizumi’s, all the rest seem to seek him out: steadying his shaking shoulders, supporting his back, wrapping around him in a tight embrace, even curling into fists and daring by passers on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru cannot match them to faces- neither the blend of voices nor the entourage of hands- from within his seafoam haze, but they are there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They are there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Hang in there, Captain, </em> they repeat like a mantra. <em> We believe in you. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> We believe in you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> We believe in you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day that “I” finally becomes “we” is a horrible bittersweet one. Tooru would’ve cried even if he wasn’t in pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later, as he sketches his new design, Tooru learns to incorporate parachutes. His perspective has widened, his view no longer limited to the daunting hiss of the waves, to the blinding rays of the sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s high enough to see the world as its whole. There is so much beyond his cliffside, so many stars stronger than the sun. Tooru plans for it all now, tracing out future plans and growing carefully. Carefully now, for he has learned recklessness and action cannot truly battle fear, only knowledge can. He knows his talent will bloom one day, but plants need care, kind rains and sweet sunlight, nourishment and gentle voices; and all Tooru has been doing till now is yanking painfully up at the roots, furiously urging himself to flourish. Still, he tries to undo the damage and aching in his joints from all his failed landings- or were they failed ascensions?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All he can do is work harder and hope he’ll learn to trust his own progress, until one day-</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> The Great King</em>, a crow calls him. He’s surprised, but secretly pleased, taking the title in stride and growing all the grander.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s not quite supposed to be taking compliments from the opponent, but that night he flies, struggles against the wind and rises above it, finally gets a breathtaking glimpse of life above monsters, geniuses and winged men. The sun is behind him, the oceans a mere square beneath him; the universe is finally within Tooru’s grasp.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only he hadn’t been shot down so quickly, held down as his wings were torn from his back by sheer force. Eagles watch, mocking his fall as they claim the universe as theirs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> One more time. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Just one, come on. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He drags himself from the all-consuming waters, and like always,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru tries again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only months later that it hits him it’s all he’ll ever be able to do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> I can’t</em>, Tooru finally realizes, as he slams into the harsh, freezing waves again, his head buzzing. The sun has defeated him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet he swims to shore with all the dignity he can retain, head held high and with stubborn refusal to shed a single tear on this cursed battlefield- if not for his pride, then for those who stand with him, which truly have always been one in the same. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Trying, trying, trying… I swear I’m trying. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night he cries anyway, the final shard of his efforts lost to the treacherous sea. All he can see is the eternal night. There is no more sun to reach for, his metallic wings burned to ashes. Even the constellations that litter the sky seemed to have blinked away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Gone, </em> he thinks. <em> After so long, it’s all gone. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>There, at the brink of eighteen, the tipping point of his very existence without the aspirations of his life to guide him, Tooru makes a startling discovery: </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>He is not defined by the lack of wings on his back. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes off his crown, gracefully hands his kingdom to his successor, staring back at his beloved blue castle. <em> Thank you for the past three years. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bones aching and heart tired, he makes two lifelong promises, one a brazen curse, a threatening vow: <em> You’d best never forget this worthless pride of mine. </em> The other is accompanied by a genuine smile, a friend, and a fist bump- a clumsy declaration of love. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> You’re the partner I can boast... that will not change. But when we fight, I will defeat you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bring it on. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru doesn’t mind simply walking that night, in the quiet company of Iwaizumi and his thoughts pressed to his skin. They pass his house, and the creek across town, and don’t stop till they reach the highway. It’s… easy. His knees ache, exhaustion clouds his mind, but suddenly, the gaping ocean beneath him is not all that terrifying. Tooru could take a swim if he wanted to, it would be so easy. Even trying, it does not seem all that daunting. <em> Keep going without a doubt, </em> Iwaizumi had said, and finally it sinks in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I will. Oh, I will. I’ll cross the world. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It will get harder to climb, he knows, especially without wings, but for now, he enjoys the view.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa Tooru is only human, and for once, he’s okay with that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> You’re right, </em> he tells them, gracefully shedding his wings. He disassembles his inventions, places them in a box with the rest of his memories. <em> I will never see your heaven. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> But I will find my own. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did that all make sense? I had a hard time emphasizing things and making it more emotional at some parts while still sticking to the metaphor of wings and Icarus and such, so if you have any feedback at all I'd love to hear it! </p>
<p>Thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Talent is something you make bloom. Instinct is something you polish.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is a truth Tooru has held prevalent for years now, shaping it into his very being- mind sharpened from its ceaseless calculations, muscles hardened from constant conditioning, knee still bearing the brunt from one step too far. But suddenly, it has taken on a new form, spilling into its true figure without the burden of limitations and structure, just as Tooru makes the unsteady effort to free himself of his own mold- if only for a moment. Tooru is not a natural, a pure being of the cosmos; he has no reserve of talent to draw upon, so he must leave Japan’s spring of cherry blossoms behind. His talent cannot bloom here. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stepping onto a plane for the first time in his life, Tooru flies- though not in the way he had always imagined as a child- across the world and begins anew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Argentinian sun he finds, though it’s all the same, shines a bit brighter. It’s warmer, kinder, placing blankets upon his shoulders on his worst days and highlighting his most ingenious plays and nimblest sets. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> I wouldn’t mind </em> , Tooru thinks distantly. <em> Wearing that sun, it might be nice. </em>At the very least, he knows it wouldn’t smear ash across his back, sting and scar his skin. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And still, he tires, as all do. There are the moments when he misses his old, jagged cliffside and the flowers that protrude from the cracks in its rocky walls, the crests of the waves, the castle he built- the people that found him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now he only sees them through a haze; the ocean’s only malice is the distance and isolation. It’s not quite like it had been, merciless and vicious, but quieter. It’s there, always knows- inescapable. It can’t attack, but the waves loom over him, acting as a constant reminder. <em> You are still on the ground. You are alone now. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru is nothing if not stubborn, but truth speaks loudest. He is alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knows it should be better to have no one antagonizing. After all, it’s harder to compete at such a distance. But without the ocean under him, without his wings to fight for, failure is easy. He loathes it- how easily he dips down without realizing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s not quite as painful as high school was, but it’s far more difficult- instead of panic, there is the heavy, sinking feeling of impending time. <em> One day, </em>he promises himself, but ‘one day’ is nowhere near clear enough, and Tooru has always been a tangled bundle of impatience and adamant ambition.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru understands that his opportunity will come, but it’s a horrible ache to work and work, worrying about the clock ticking away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is the stark difference between yearning for <em> better </em> and aspiring for the <em> best </em> that Tooru cannot manage to wrap his mind around. How does one settle for just <em> better, </em> when there is somehow still always something even better?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, lining himself up to invisible powers is exhausting, like a child crying about the monsters in his closet. He can no longer risk late nights testing mishap wings, promising himself not to crash, promising it will be better this time. There is no one to catch him when he inevitably falls, as much as he wishes there is, so he goes home early, cooks dinner instead of building wings, even when it all feels foreign to his hands, awkward on his tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time, he knows, is the one opponent no one can challenge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Tooru is a fighter- it is all he knows. It is never easy to let go of old habits, whether it is the cherry blossoms of the spring, the lilt of language, or the deep, intense urge to charge in without hesitation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time does not care for his nuisances. Laughing at old selfies on a late night video call, limbs aching dully from hours of practice, Tooru finds 18 has slipped into 24. The inevitable shouldn’t quite be reason for grief, but Tooru doesn’t feel much like blowing out birthday candles- though he finds himself downing drinks at the bar the next day regardless, embraced by an entirely different world: Teammates turned friends wrapped around him, grinning and joking, so different from the boys he left behind, yet so unmistakably familiar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been a long six years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How did time manage to dart past him so quickly, then, scraping past him like howling winds?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> More time, </em>Tooru urges the universe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Faster, </em>he yearns all the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever it may be to fly higher, to reach the sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The glory must be unimaginable here, where the sun is majestic, benevolent, open armed. Tooru has not donned any wings for years, content to grow taller safely under its rays, to keep his back to the ocean. The ground is unwavering, secure beneath his feet, so unlike the raging tsunamis and hurling waves he had trembled above for years, with their icy grips clawing at his legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru is older now- he knows how it works. No one questions the scars on his back, his sun-bleached hair and raw, burnt fingertips, only murmur of his unstable knees and slashed ankles. They are blind to the marks he has stolen from the sun, yet they scrutinize him for the heights that have been stolen from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the years are racing away, evading his grasp, flitting between his desperate fingers, and Tooru is sinking into the ground. He may be wingless, mere human, but the ground does not suit him, not as the sky does, infinite and omniscient. Tooru could run circles around the Earth, cover every piece of solid land with his footprints, claim it all as his own, but up is the only direction he can allow himself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all, volleyball is a game where you can only look up. The ocean may spurt and seethe under him, but that is all it is- under him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru decides he can’t lose to the sands of time, either; can’t wait for the ocean to sweep over him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes a leap of faith, finding a new cliffside to call home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It is not much later that he finds Brazil's own freak- Hinata Shoyo, wings as dark as midnight, traveling at the speed of light, sure and beaming on the golden coast. Ninja Shoyo, they call him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru recalls the last time they had met, scathing winds separating them. Never had there been good terms- they’d fought tooth and claw, choked each other into the waves. He had watched furiously as Shoyo had tore his way into heaven, onto the throne that should’ve been his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, Tooru can’t find it in him to consider the younger a monster, not when his ambitions seem to mirror his own. His wings have grown far larger in the past years, curving high, prim and powerful, but they don’t seem to be the reason he floats with every step, unburdened and glowing in the summer sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Enthusiasm must spread quickly, because he finds himself at Shoyo’s side, taking up a spontaneous bet and a game of beach volleyball. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's frustratingly unfamiliar, but one of the things most difficult things to grow used to is the unfiltered, unrelenting praise. “You learn fast, Oikawa-san!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Still. That’s super cool!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What else am I supposed to do? Not all of us have wings, y’know,” Tooru reminds him. “I’m not like you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Not all of us are special.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course you are. You’re here, aren’t you?” Shoyo shakes his head, smiling. He unfurls those flawless midnight wings of his, letting the feathers flutter in the breeze. Tooru is shocked to find that they are littered with their own little scars, but Shoyo grins wide and proud, wearing the falls with grace. “Besides, plenty of people have wings. But not everyone flies.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa has always despised wings, loathed the powerful muscles cording through them and the soft, delicate feathers that lace across their nimble frames: the favor of fate, the favor that will never be his. Today, soaked in daylight, is the first time he sees them up close; he cannot tear his eyes away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps, Shoyo is right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps, it’s not the heavens that makes them special, but their own endeavor for victory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa Tooru blooms on the warm, shifting sand of Brazil’s coastline, with the lull of the ocean’s tranquil waves in his ears and the gentle kiss of the sun on his skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t even have to try.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s fun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is more to flying than the view, the superiority and pride of looking down on the world. There is the wind, gliding coolly beneath him and there is slipping, soft landings, and laughter. It’s funny, how everyone forgets that Icarus laughed at his peak, as his wings burned away. For Tooru, it had always been agony and heartbreak; he could not imagine any other fall. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, he understands. The sun is breathtaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The view from the summit fills his heart. What else could there be but laughter, but elation and light?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here, he doesn’t fear the fall: it’s safe, catching him gently, cradling his wounds and bouncing him back up, encouraging and kind. He slips and Shoyo laughs, extending his hands to help him up. Whether rising or falling, the air is streaked with gold- he glows against the gleaming backdrop, laughing at the resounding crackle of his palm meeting the ball for a perfect jump serve, laughing as he flubs up receives, laughing as he jumps, laughing as the ball deflects off his fingers, grinning at every point, each loss and each gain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru is flying; he is falling; he is the buzz of his fingertips and triumphant screaming, ecstasy and youth. He is a beginning anew, the soothing, whispering promises of the waves washing over him as if he is 6 instead of 24, giddily tugging at a friend's hands for another day, another hour, another minute- another second.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Back then, even one more second was enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When had that changed? When had growing ambition caused him to lose his roots, his purpose?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s okay, he supposes, now that he knows to carry this joy with him. He’ll carry this vision back to Argentina, to Japan, to the crown of the universe itself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m going to beat everyone. So be ready for it!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shoyo takes it easily, thanks him for pulling him out of his slump, even, but Tooru wouldn’t have it any other way. <em> See you soon. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything is so strange at the top.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It shimmers, whirs around him ceaselessly. It screams, and shouts, and cheers; trembles and holds it breath. It buzzes with the air, closing in on him like a veil until it is bursting beneath his skin, streaming through his veins, tinting his vision in a white haze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But in all the exuberance, chaotic ecstasy, spinning vision and blinding lights, there is a peculiar stillness. There is a binding precision around Tooru’s slender fingers, the unwavering strength in his bones; there is a sharp awareness encompassing him, as if every space is an extension of his own body. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So still. So clear. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tooru knows. This is it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is the universe, dancing across his fingers. This is the universe, chanting his name as he twirls the Earth’s axis on his palms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is the weight of the world on his shoulders, and strangely enough, he stands taller; Tooru feels like a child, with wonder eyes and a buoyant heart. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And yet, in this moment, he can’t be any older- Tooru knows it all with overwhelming clarity. His legs still ache, his back still stings, his fingers still itch to master the sun, his mind still plagued by every rejection and failure, and still; still they have come back here. Still, he is here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as he promised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> This is gonna be one hell of a family quarrel. </em><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He had thought there’d be no greater place than the universe’s zenith, no greater peak to conquer- only one, inevitable sun, with all else as an obstacle. But tonight there is not the conquering he imagined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a greater force- gravity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here, at the top, it captures everything, and Tooru is in the very center of it all. He conducts it all, tugs the planets just so, creates the tides of the ocean and directs the cosmos in perfect spirals. The crowds lean into his elegant plays, his opponents fall at his feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oikawa Tooru has grown larger than the flight he wished to master. Now, he might as well be the sky itself, omniscient and ever expanding. The same constellations he’d traced as a bright-eyed child, fighting to stay awake to watch the mesmerizing dream above him, now litter his skin, sparkle in his eyes. There is nothing that doesn’t belong within his grasp; Tooru fills the endless space until the world knows no other figure than him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe that is how the world has always seen him- smiles like gentle breezes and serves like tornadoes. Tooru has fought inevitable storm clouds and clung to sunlight and turned in upon himself to paint himself this bright blue. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He began as the dark cobalt blue of Kitagawa First- thundering skies, desperate rains flitting between scorching days. There were only extremes then, destructive elegance: lethal fear or heart wrenching glee. But as he built his castles and kingdoms, learned to fly, turquoise descended upon him, clear and balanced- <em> Seijoh </em>. Its loyalty and friendship still streak across his skies, bracing his legs and filling his phone calls, just as Kitagawa First’s cobalt is smudged at his roots. And finally, he glows, the clouds dissolving as Argentina’s blue takes him. Though it’s not the bold red of Japan, he wears it with pride, for it lights his haven, enthusiastic and ethereal, far brighter than their heaven ever could. Stable and effortlessly confident, unburdened by hurricanes and expectations of royalty, he carries himself regally all the same. His frustrations rise to easy, genuine smiles; Tooru shines a magnificent sky-blue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The gold that hangs around his neck cannot weigh him down. It is only the sun, burning like his heart, clawing its way from his chest and cutting itself on his ribs just for a moment of that triumph. Veins of gold gleaming just barely below Tooru’s frayed seams- there is stardust pouring from his scars. For all the rejections and burns he’s suffered at the hands of the universe, Tooru can still whole-heartedly say he loves it unconditionally, embracing it within his sky. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wings don’t seem quite so significant now that he’s here, after 27 years- though some interviewers still seem to think they do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The monster generation?” Tooru waves the question off airily, smirking. “Oh, they’re just stepping stones for me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sky is infinite- there is always more for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not completely satisfied with this, but I thought I should at least get it out. Again, feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoyed it!</p>
<p>Anyway, thanks you so much for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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